


Sins of the Puppet Master

by KommissarMandar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: severus_sighs, Community: snape100, Community: snape_potter, Community: snapedom, Dark Harry Potter, Drug Use, Incest, Incest Kink, Multi, Nazis, Sibling Incest, Violence, Young Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KommissarMandar/pseuds/KommissarMandar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a tale of romance and terror, destiny and chaos, friendship and betrayal, heroism and violence, love and lies, and most of all, the dichotomy of light and darkness present in one man's soul. That man: Severus Snape. Follow Severus on his epic and dramatic journey down the slippery slope of moral decay, from small child to the hateful, cold man in the black cloak.</p>
<p>Sins of the Puppet Master is essentially a journey into Severus Snape's psyche and a look into the daily trials and tribulations that he faces in his life from his rearing, to his school years, to those 12 years of his time with the Death Eaters which are not shown to us in the books, to the Harry Potter years.  This is not an AU fic, as I intend to stay in line with canon, but put a different spin on canon events due to their context being viewed in a different perspective.  I'll be adding a healthy dose of realism and dimension to the characters of the Harry Potter universe and add new twists to the motivations behind their actions.  I'll be taking the bits and pieces that we're shown about Snape's background and weave them together into a full picture of the life he lived, which turns out to be something very dark and scandalous indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Betrothal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An arranged marriage is not what Eileen Prince has in mind for her future, but her father thinks otherwise. What's a girl to do?

**“He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man.” -Samuel Johnson**

_“Severus?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Have you ever wanted to make someone happy?”_

_The high-noon sunlight gives her eyes the appearance of molten emeralds, and I find them difficult to look into. There is an unnerving quality to her gaze, and as paranoid and cliché as it sounds, I feel as if she can see right through me. The green orbs leave me feeling naked and exposed, weighing me, judging me. Turning toward the Quidditch pitch, I gather my thoughts, and then face her once more._

_I reach out and tuck loose strands of blood-red hair behind her ear. “No.”_

_She flinches backward, a puzzled grimace crinkling her nose. “Why not?”_

_I motion for her to come closer to me, and she obeys. She gasps in surprise as I take her in my arms and perch my chin atop her head._

_“Can anyone ever really make anybody else happy? Is that the mortgage which we pay for this life on Earth? To sacrifice ourselves for another person's happiness? Is it not possible for a man to live without buying into the guise of altruism?”_

_“Sev, what are you talking about?”, I feel her squirm._

_“Lil...people are pigs. Fat. Filthy. Greedy. Swine. There is no such thing as a random act of kindness. Selflessness does not exist. Where the naïve and innocent see charity, those who have seen man's unmasked ugliness know there is an ulterior, self-serving motive behind every act. If I were to, out of the blue, give you an expensive gift tomorrow, how would you react?”_

_“I-I would be grateful. I'd want to return the kindness somehow.”_

_“Exactly. Your moral code wouldn't allow you to do otherwise. You are now unwillingly indebted to me, and I could continue these random acts of kindness to increase that debt. I could be doing this to inflate my own ego, I could be doing this to appear the gentleman in front of my friends, I could be doing this to snatch a piece of what's under your skirts-”_

_“Sev!”_

_“However! No matter the specific reason, my actions are entirely self-motivated. It's about what I want, not you. My happiness, not yours. I'm only gratifying my own emotional greed.”_

_She sighed a long sigh and her shoulders fell. It was as if another little piece of the bubble she lived in had slowly deflated. I often had that effect on her._

_“Well, Sev, are you a pig?”  
I run my fingernails down the length of her spine. “No, baby, I'm the butcher.” I laugh softly into her crimson locks._

_She's silent for a time. “Sev, where did you say your parents were on vacation to again?”_

_In the distance, a thestral takes flight._

.............................................................

**-Dusseldorf, Germany 1953-**

“Vorsätzliche Hure! Are you aware at all of the gravity of the situation!? Do you have any respect, regard, or even THOUGHT for this family?”

Eileen Prince ignored the insult and kept her eyes transfixed on the snow slowly building up on the window. “I always have, father. Even considering the course your...career took.” She ran her fingers through her waist-length, midnight black hair. “Father, he's my first cousin - 

“And the last of our line!! The last Prince of marrying age! Severus LXVIII is a fine, wealthy, Pure-Blood wizard who will care for your every need until the end of your days. Where is the problem here? What more could you want?”

“Happiness, Independence, the freedom to marry a man of my own choosing, preferably one who is not related to me.”

“You know our history, Eileen. You know the way we marry. We have been marrying cousin to cousin, uncle to niece, and brother to sister since the days of Severus The Conqueror. We are, and will remain, the Purest-Blooded and most powerful family in the wizarding world.”

“Your mind is lost in the ages past, father.”, she sighed. “You are delusional. The most powerful family in the wizarding world? Who? All three or four of us? And what power? You lost your last ally in 1945.”

Her father's voice took on a deep, smooth, malicious tone, like silk soaked in acid, as it always did when he was on the edge of rage.

“WE lost our last ally, Eileen. WE did.”, He began to stroke his golden-blonde beard and contemplate silently for a moment. “Do you remember what the mystic said?”

“You mean the tea leaf reading quack who will get your dead grandmother on the horn for only 150 galleons?”, Eileen had little and less respect for the art of divination. 

“Für die Liebe von Merlin! ENOUGH of your goddamned quips, child! You remember what she said. You remember her words. “Your Prince shall be THE prince. Your offspring will be the force that restores our bloodline back to glory. The son you bear will be Severus The Conqueror reborn. He will wield a wand made of steel and our family will be delivered back to our position of highest power.”

“There has never been a wand crafted from steel, I've researched it. Steel has no magical properties, it wouldn't make an iota of sense to craft a wand from steel. Severus The Conqueror is certainly going to look the fool on this go-around, toting around a wand that's utterly use-AUUGH!!”

For a scrawny, middle-aged doctor, he hit with the force of a man twice his size. Eileen was knocked to the floor, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of her mouth. He loomed over her, his face twisted in rage.

“Do NOT mock me, child. This is not a negotiation. Three weeks from today you will be wedded to Severus LXVIII. You will be graceful, courteous, and you will perform your duties as a bride come the wedding night. This conversation is over.”

“It is NOT!” His eyes widened in shock, as it was remarkably rare for his daughter to talk back after a good thrashing. 

“Do you not realize that this is BARBARIC! It is the year 1953, not 1453! There are no more conquerors or kings in the wizarding world! There are no more knights to gallivant around and win the hearts of fair princesses, and now there will be no more Princes either. And what does it matter!? That age has passed! That chapter of history has long since closed. There is neither glamor nor honor in the thrice-be-damned forced coupling of two blood relatives anymore, just the potential for more children to die or come into this world misshapen because we're so FUCKING inbred!! How, father? How can you be so content to sell the soul of your only daughter for this Merlin forsaken pipe dream? How can you stand there and be proud of the fact that in three weeks, your child will be a BREEDING-SOW!?”, She screamed as her voice cracked and the tears streamed down her cheeks, trembling half with rage and half with hysteria. 

“It seems we will not see eye-to-eye on this.”, he spoke with lazy resignation. “Nonetheless, these are the events that shall come to pass. The hand of fate holds us all in its icy grasp. You cannot change what is written in the stars.”

“Bullshit. WE are that hand, father. You have been shown time and time again that it is not the heavens that weave a man's destiny, it is the man himself. The war has been the latest illustration of that fact.” His eyes immediately dropped to the ground, as if by reflex, at the mention of the war.

“How do you propose to change you fate, child?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Where will you go?”

“England, where I can freely show my face and not worry about someone recognizing me as Dr. Prince's daughter.” She squeezed all the disdain she could muster into the mention of his name. “I'm still remembered at Hogwarts, Professor Slughorn could find me work, I was his best potion brewer.”

A sinister grin spread across his face, so wide it looked as if his face might split in two. “I don't suppose you're as good a brewer as I am.”, He chuckled.

A look of horror crossed with disgust twisted Eileen's features. “How the fuck can you laugh at that, you sadistic pig? I wouldn't want to be as good as you, if it meant doing the things you've done.”

“Oh Eileen, one day you will learn that nothing great was ever attained without sacrifice. Perhaps the lesson will sink in when you're bearing your son.”

“Did you not hear me, father? I'm leaving. I'm done. I want no part in this family and I will not be used as a pawn in a game that was lost centuries ago.”  
His face took on a look of icy calm that sent a pang of fear to pierce her heart, and his hand delved into his pocket. Eileen rose to her feet and smoothed her skirts.

“I'm-I'm going upstairs now, to gather my things.”

He was on her before her foot hit the ground, and a scream would have escaped her lips, had his cold, slender hand not clamped around her nose and mouth. With his other hand he found the vein, and drove the needle inside. It took not half a second before her limbs failed her, and she crumpled to the ground like a twisted, grotesque rag doll. You're right, father, you always were the better brewer.

He loomed over her once more. “We can do this two ways, child. You can be a good girl, walk down the aisle and end your days as a maiden in 3 weeks, or, you can enjoy the feeling of being drugged and chained to your bed while you get to know my taser until you change your mind. You haven't a dime to your name, girl, nor as many friends as you think you have. And if in the throws of lunacy you decide to run away, I will find you.” With a sinister grin he added, “You know that no one under my...care slips through my fingers.”

Eileen attempted to prop herself up on her arms, but they slipped out from underneath her, as useless as wet parchment. With a painful jolt to her neck, she felt her father seize her by her long, dark hair. She clenched her teeth to the point of near shattering as she heard the screeeeeeee sound that her body being dragged along the glossy, wood floor made. 

With a harsh tug, he dragged his daughter up the stairway leading to her room. Eileen mused as each step dealt her a rough knock on the head, 13 steps...same number as the gallows. She could almost laugh, had she not so badly wanted to scream. When they reached the second floor of the estate, her father had the decency to slide his arms underneath her and lift her from the ground. He pushed the door of her room open with his foot and unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed.

“Your room will be charmed shut and locked until morning. If you try anything foolish, I will know. Sleep well, princess.” 

With a light slam, the door was shut and Eileen was left to process thought after unpleasant thought that raced through her pounding head. It wasn't until about an hour later that movement returned to her limbs. Stacking some pillows against the headboard of her bed, she propped herself up and absently surveyed her bedroom. 

The décor of her room was a motley of childhood memories frozen in time, framed by pale pink wallpaper. On the closet door to her left hung moth-eaten Hogwarts robes, a dark green tie with thin, silver stripes draped over the shoulders. Next to the closet was a small display table on which several Gobstone tournament trophies stood. Against the far wall stood a radio and a tall dresser whose surface was home to five porcelain figurines.

Looking at the figurines never failed to evoke a pang of nostalgia within her. They were a Prince family heirloom that had been passed down to her on her 7th birthday, back when life was brighter, and all it took was a simple gift to bring her joy. She observed each of the figures from left to right: A tall, dark-haired prince dressed entirely in black, a chestnut haired princess who held a crystal ball in her cupped hands, a magnificent unicorn with a flowing main of every color that existed in the rainbow, a gallant knight whose armor was made entirely of glittering, solid gold, and lastly, a fair-haired blacksmith, who was hammering away at a sword on a tiny little porcelain anvil. 

Her mother used to tell her that the figures would come to life when she was sleeping; that they would throw little parties and gallivant around the room whilst she was tucked warm in her bed, and should she awake, they would run right back into their original positions, quick as lightning, that she may never notice. It was for this reason that Eileen had dubbed the painted porcelain troupe the “night crew.” She recalled the hours and hours she staved off sleep, fighting a losing battle against heavy eyelids, just for a chance to catch a glimpse of their after-dark affairs. Of course, the night crew remained stationary, but they were her most precious possessions nonetheless.

Turning over in her bed, she faced a mahogany nightstand where an ornate, jade and ivory music box stood. She reached over and wound it up several times. A little door opened at the top, and two little dancers, an elegantly dressed man and woman, ascended and began to twirl around to a simplified, high pitched version of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Symphony No. 36. 

Resting her head and relaxing her body, she observed the tiny waltz. Maybe it won't be so bad...maybe he's gentle and kind. Perhaps, against all odds, I'll even come to love him. As optimistic as the thought was however, the gnawing sense of doubt in the pit of her stomach refused to let her believe it.


	2. Oink! Oink! Goes the Human Race.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is patient, love is kind, love is the tepid hands of your cousin touching you in places you'd rather not think about. Eileen Prince has a dilemma on her hands.

**“There is no more lovely, friendly and charming relationship, communion or company,  
than a good marriage.” -Martin Luther**

_“Severus?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“What does it feel like...to kill?”_

_I inhaled deeply, thinking back to the thunderous BANG, the smell of sulfur, the forming scream that was blasted out of his throat before it had a chance to escape his lips, and the blood....oh the blood that painted the walls. I turned toward the window, absently gazing over the waves of the Pacific Ocean, and found the words to answer._

_“Mandarys, what controls the waves of the ocean?”_

_“The moon.”, she flatly replies._

_“And what controls the moon?”_

_Her brows furrow in bemusement at the question._

_“The Earth's orbit?”_

_“Yes, and what controls the Earth's orbit?”_

_“The sun.”_

_“Very good. Now, what controls the universe?”_

_She goes silent, I can feel her jaw dropping against my chest, looking for words.”_

_“I don't know.”_

_“I don't either. Nobody does, really. Some may call it God, some may call it Fate, or perhaps it's nothing at all, and we're all just riding on a chaotic tide of rock and flame to nowhere. I can tell you this, though; when you take the life of another human being, it's like for a single moment...you hold all that power, all that control, in your hands. For a moment, it doesn't matter how small you are, how insignificant you feel, what your shortcomings are, how many times you've been beaten, how many games you've lost, how many things you've failed at, how many of your dreams have been broken...because in that moment...you are a God.”_

_“You're funny, Sev.”_

_I feel her mouth curl into a smile against me as she nuzzles my chest. I tighten my arms around her small frame, bringing her head under my chin. I gently plant a kiss on the top of her head._

_“Goodnight, Baby Sis. I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Sev.”_

_I feel her breathing become more rhythmic as the sound of the sea makes me do the same._

........................................................

“You just need one last thing.”

Dr. Severus Prince LXVI approached his daughter, holding the tiara reverently with both hands. You would have never known that it was over 1,000 years old, the way it sparkled in the dim lighting. A large emerald was set in the center of the precious silver, flanked by two embossed scorpions, the Prince family sigil. 

He gently placed the tiara on top of Eileen's shimmering, ebony hair. “There,” he cooed, “a perfect princess.” Upon examining her reflection in the mirror, Eileen truly couldn't argue. She donned a heavily antiquated, though no less stunning gown of black and forest green. The edges of the fabric were lined with a silky material, on which little green scorpions were embroidered. Around her neck hung an elaborate emerald necklace. Her hair was an artful tumble of curls inlaid with little white flowers. 

She looked the part of a bride in dress, to be sure, but her sullen expression wouldn't look out of place on a death row inmate. Despite the dread gnawing at her insides, she would voice no argument. Open dissent would be about as fruitful as pissing in the wind at this point. Her fate had been decided and it's cold, cruel hand would yield no mercy.

Her train of thought was derailed by long-fingered hands embracing her shoulders. “You wear that dress as beautifully as mother did. She did fill out the front better, but you look to be a vision of loveliness nonetheless.” He kissed her cheek. 

“Uh...thank you, father. That means a lot to me.”

“Please, princess, do try and smile, you want to look perfect for your future husband, don't you?”

“I'll get into character when it comes time for me to play my part in this dog and pony show.”

His hands tightened around her shoulders to the point where his fingernails were close to breaking the skin. “Don't fuck this up, Eileen. Now!, he said, with a complete 180 degree change of tone, let's get on with the happiest day of your life.” Though expected, she was still revolted by his beaming smile. Taking her by the arm, he led her towards the front door, and they apparrated to the residence of Severus LXVIII.

Cousin Severus lived on the outskirts of Frankfurt, in a home that could be described as somewhere between upper-middle class and mildly wealthy. The living room was large and presentable enough to hold the wedding ceremony in, especially considering there would only be 12 or so guests. Dr. Prince took a moment to examine himself in a small hand mirror, primped his golden hair, and then led his daughter up the walkway and knocked on her future husband's door.  
“Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, I'm gonna make you mine!”, her father exclaimed, beaming with outstretched arms.

“Sevvy, baby! Eileen! Willkommen! Come on inside!” A hand bearing overly-long, chintzy red nails ushered them inside.

Her father lifted Aunt Jaenarys by the waist and spun her around while she giggled and squealed like an overgrown schoolgirl. “Oh Sevvy, I couldn't be happier to see you, you handsome devil! I swear, you look skinnier every time I see you. You lose the weight and I find it, that must be how it works.”

“Nonsense!, her father said, loosening her grip on her so as to survey the gaudily dressed woman. You're as beautiful as you were since you were 18! Besides, I like a woman who has some meat on her bones.”, he gave his sister a firm pinch on the behind.

“Oh! You dog!,” she laughed. “Whatever shall I do with my naughty, naughty baby brother?”, she said mock-chidingly. And you! Eileen! Get over here and give your old, fat aunt a hug!”

Between her Aunt's ample bosom and the noxious, choking fumes of at least an entire bottle of perfume on her skin, Eileen silently prayed she would asphyxiate before the ceremony. Sadly, she did not get her wish. “Now you come with me right upstairs, sweetling, with it being bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress and all that.”

She was whisked up the foyer stairs to a room at the end of the hall, where another large, opulent mirror and two female...thralls stood. Their empty, lifeless stares drank her in with the vaguest understanding. A trickle of drool escaped one's lips and she dropped her eyes in discomfort. The Prince family, in their never-ending quest to one-up the entire wizarding world, did not believe in house-elves. Instead, they shelled out thousands of galleons for a thrall or two. Thralls were muggles typically abducted from 3rd world countries, who were bred and raised for servitude. To ensure their unconditional obedience, thralls were partially lobotomized, as well as having their vocal cords removed. Because of this, they had little more than the mental capacity to feed themselves, use the toilet, and perform the basic household tasks which they were assigned. 

Looking up again, Eileen noticed something unnerving about the thrall which the family simply called J. J's hair was painted an unnatural shade of vibrant red, and her breasts were disproportionately large compared to the rest of her body. It wasn't uncommon to keep a thrall as a bed slave. They were spayed or castrated upon sale and trained not to resist the touch of their masters. It made her wonder...until Aunt Jenny began assaulting her face with brushes and powder puffs to complete the finishing touches on her makeup. 

“Oh! Darling! Your cousin Sevvy is just going to eat you up! He's been waiting for this day for so long.”

“Has he, Aunt Jenny?”, she replied conversationally.

“Why of course! You are just the prettiest little young thing in this family!”, she said in a voice that could give cake diabetes.

“I'm the only little young thing in this family.”

For a split second a slight grimace tainted her Aunt's overly-happy features, as if it were a pang of jealousy. “Well, dearest, you and my darling son will get to remedying that problem tonight, now won't you?”

Touche. “I-I suppose we will, Aunt Jenny. I look forward to it.”, she replied robotically.

The thralls smoothed her dress and took care of any loose hairs on her while Aunt Jenny continued plastering her face with cosmetics and dousing her in perfume. She even lifted her skirts to dab a bit above her womanhood. When all the poking and prodding was done it was finally time to begin the ceremony. Aunt Jenny led her back down the stairs to the foyer, where her father stood outside the entrance to the living room, ready to take her by the arm and lead her down the aisle.

The tune of Here Comes the Bride struck her like a death knell. Arm-in-arm, she and her father met the beaming glances of a select few Lestranges, Blacks, and Malfoys, as well as toothless, chain-smoking great grandma Adealys Prince, and even Maximillian and Kristella Studworth, the richest pure-blood family in the entire wizarding world. Step by step, the ebony clad bride made her way down the aisle. When her hands began to shake halfway to the alter, her father paid no mind. A few moments later, she was standing face-to-face with cousin Severus. 

If there was one way to slingshot a jerk right into shitlord territory, put a crown on his head. A grin cleaved his face from ear to earringed ear. His white-blonde hair framed his ice blue eyes in an artful mess about his smug visage. The golden, emerald bedecked crown of Severus The Conqueror served to complete the picture.

“My Queen!, he genuflected and kissed her hand, “You look absolutely radiant.”

“I am pleased you find me so, m'Lord.”, Eileen gave a small curtsy. As ridiculous as the titles and customs seemed to her, in typical Prince fashion, it was expected that tradition be upheld.

The Magistrate cleared his throat. “Shall we proceed?”

“By all means.”, cousin Severus replied, with a sickly sweet smile.

“Who presents this woman?”

“I do.”, Her father bowed. Cousin Severus took her hands in his. His touch was cold. He drew her nearer to him, and as he did this, the right sleeve of his black and green ceremonial robes slipped upward, revealing his forearm. She would have thought nothing of it, had it not been for the veins. Their purplish-red hue was screamingly vibrant against the contrast of his pale skin. They snaked up his arm, practically protruding through the skin in a grotesque, unnatural fashion. Cousin Severus, quickly realizing he was...exposed, hurriedly tugged down his sleeve, his face flushing in what looked to be an expression that was half embarrassment and half worry.

“My good fellows, we are gathered here today to join Severus Prince, the 68th of his name, into the sacred union of matrimony with Eileen Prince, daughter of Dr. Severus Prince, the 66th of his name. Let us rejoice in the coming together of two people whose hearts and spirits are entwined as one. You are adding to your life not only the affection of each other, but also the companionship and blessing of a deep trust as well. You are agreeing to share strength, responsibilities and love. Love is cultivating flexibility, patience, and understanding. Love is having the capacity to forgive and forget. Love is giving each other an atmosphere in which each can grow.

Love is the tepid hands of your cousin touching you in places you'd rather not think about, she thought bitterly. The Magistrate continued to drone on about the delights of everlasting love, two souls joining as one and something about quivers full of children. She broke out of her bored daze when it came time to make the vows.

“Do you, Severus Prince LXVIII, take Eileen Prince to be your lawful wedded wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her, as long as you live?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Eileen Prince, take Severus Prince LXVIII to be your lawful wedded husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and obey him, as long as you live?”

“I do.”, she droned.

“Then by my divine right, I now pronounce you man and wife.”, with a flick of his wand shiny, golden rings appeared on each of their respective thumbs. That's right, she remembered, thumbs. To denote an inter-familial marriage. A proud, inter-familial marriage. The combination of words brought the taste of bile to her tongue. She had just enough time to swallow back the vomit before the Magistrate uttered “You may now kiss the bride.”

Cousin Severus wrapped his hands around her shoulders, bent down, and gave her a jarring, overly-forceful kiss, dipping her back slightly. Somewhere, in the deep, cavernous, oubliette of her heart, where a starry-eyed, summer-drunk teenage girl and a glimmer of hope still lived, the smallest voice cried out. Maybe it will be like the fairy tales, the songs, the sitcoms. Perhaps that wholly unheralded, electrifying spark of enchantment from God-knows-where will somehow kindle and catch fire, and I will open my eyes and see him in new light. Her eyes fluttered open. Nope. Nothing. His touch was beginning to feel more and more like an annoying, itchy garment that she wanted to tear off; the cheers and applause of the guests like insects buzzing in her ears. 

Once again biting back bile, she forced the corners of her mouth into a hollow smile, and faced the gaping maw'd caricatures of powder faced aristocrats waiting to congratulate her. Aunt Jenny immediately ran up to cousin Severus and wildly embraced him, jumping up and down in an embarrassing fashion and yelling about how her baby was finally wed. Gimbiatti Lestrange greeted her with a wide smile, revealing a glimmering gold tooth and wished her many years of happiness. Jebediah Black shook her hand in his many-ringed one and shouted “Reines blut stolz!” Kristella Studworth, practically dripping diamonds, gracefully sauntered her way.

“My dear, sweet, Eileen! You look simply exquisite!”, she proclaimed in her refined, American accent.

“Thank you, Lady Studworth. I'm so very honored that you and your husband traveled all the way from California just to be here.”

“Oh, darling!”, she purred, “It was no trouble at all, I assure you. We wouldn't miss the wedding of the last little Prince girl for the world.”

“You-you are truly good people.”, she let her face fall, honesty cracking through her voice. “You have helped us so much more than you know...these past years. I don't know how to thank you.”

“There is no need, child. No need for that at all. We are the golden shield that protects you, always.”, she softly spoke.

Eileen glanced towards her father, who was whispering something in Aunt Jenny's ear, causing her to blush and howl with laughter. The disdain in her glance could not be masked.

“We have done nothing to deserve that protection.”

Lady Studworth frowned and cupped Eileen's cheek, genuine sadness reflecting in her blue-green eyes. She leaned forward to whisper in her ear. 

“I know this all seems unfair, sweet child, but please, do try to understand. As cliché as it sounds, your father only wants the best for you. After all, he's in such an awful position right now. He's told me how he lies awake at night, wondering if they'll knock on his door and drag him off to Nuremberg. How you'll have no one to look out for you, that his legacy will be scattered to the ashes.”

He could have fled to South America with his partner. I'm a grown woman, I can look out for myself, and piss on his legacy. She could have argued, but why bother? “I understand, Lady Studworth.” 

She smiled softly, “Everything will be okay, sweetheart. Now come on, they're starting dinner and presents in the next room.” Lady Studworth took her gently by the hand and walked her to the table.

Eileen spent the next hour pushing around a procession of salads, schnitzels, and beef concoctions around on her plate, taking a bite here and there to soak up the copious amounts of champagne she was drinking. She was never much one for the drink, but she didn't see any other option, lest tonight be anything short of torture. Her father was celebrating in much the same fashion, blowing through champagne glasses and taking more enjoyment in rubbing his sister's back than any man ever should. Her new husband sat at the opposite end of the table, eying her in much the same way as he did his food. 

When the meal and following cake was through, it came time to open the presents. One by one, she and cousin Severus were handed frilly, white and silver packages. Some of them contained jewelry for her, others nifty household odds and ends. She watched as her father handed a sparkling, golden wrapped and bowed package to cousin Severus. He tore off the wrapping paper eagerly, revealing an ornate, carved, cherry-wood box. Delicately undoing the clasp, he lifted the lid of the box only a sliver, so as to discreetly see what was inside. When he did, he closed it, and shot Dr. Prince a sly smile, as if they were sharing some private joke. Her father responded in kind, with a nod of his head and a wink. Probably full of girly photos or something, the dirty bastards.

The thralls took the bounty of wedding gifts into the bride and groom's bedchamber, whilst the plates and tables were cleared away via magic. A knock was heard at the door.

“Ah! The band is here!”, Squealed Aunt Jenny. She hurriedly led them into the room. Deftly, they set up harp and lute, piano and horn with graceful professionalism. Eileen downed another glass of champagne. Without wasting any time, the band broke into the beginning notes of the family's traditional song, The Ballad of Severus The Conqueror. 

“I believe it is tradition that the newly wed Lord and Lady have the first dance.”

She turned to find cousin Severus grinning at her with an outstretched hand.

“Of course, m'Lord.”, she smiled, taking his hand. He led her to the center of the floor, as the leader of the band rang out the first verse.

And what might have you?  
The dread King said,  
That I'd lay down my sword?  
Bend your knee,  
And bow to me,  
Lest your kingdom face my horde.

He swept her to and fro across the dance floor with surprising grace as more and more couples joined in. Eileen laid her head against his shoulder in an attempt to feel some...tenderness, the slightest touch of warmth. The champagne had her feeling slightly swimmy in the head and had begun to rouse some life into her womanhood, but not enough yet to make the prospect of cousin Severus seem appealing. 

May it take a month, a year, or three,  
Be it magic or steel-on-steel.  
Thy streets shall run red,  
Thy blood shall be shed,  
And what's left of you will kneel.

“So, Sev, what was in that box my father gave you?” It may seem like prying, but after all, I am his wife now. 

“That box? Oh, just a few things to have fun with.”, he chuckled.

And so he rode, and so he rode,  
The King that knew no fear,  
From North to South,  
To East to West,  
Until the death screams were heard by every ear.

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun. Do you like to have fun, Eileen?”, He looked at her mischievously, poked at his forearm with two fingers, and winked. She had the feeling she was obviously missing the key point of whatever double-entendre he was going for.

“Fun...yes, I like to have fun. Do you remember when we were little and you used to play gobstones with me?” 

He began cackling so hard that spittle misted her ear. “Gobstones! Gobstones!”, he chortled, “Oh, you pretty little idiot. You're as innocent as a doveling, aren't you? HA!” 

The spears they flew,   
The body count grew,  
As his armies thundered in by flood,  
And every voice that cried in protest,  
Paid for that right in blood.

She didn't quite know how to respond to that. “I-I suppose it's been a long time since we've seen each other, sweet cousin. It seems we have much to catch up on.”

“Well, dearest, we're married now. We'll have plenty of time for that, after I fuck you.”, he punctuated the whispered statement by slowly licking her earlobe, finishing off with a graze of his teeth.

And so he rode, and so he rode,  
The King that knew no fear,  
From North to South,  
To East to West,  
Until the death screams were heard by every ear.

Perhaps the gesture, in his own skewed mind, was intended to be endearing. To Eileen, it was too much. She abruptly ended the dance, wriggling her arms away from his grasp, and walked away from him as gracefully as she could. By the grace of god, a thrall was passing by with a tray of drinks. She grabbed a fluted pink concoction and greedily gulped it down. Doubling over, she sputtered and hacked, not expecting such a timid-hued drink to be so firesome. Her vision blurred as she grabbed the first seat she could and unceremoniously plopped down upon it. To her left, sat Gimbiatti Lestrange.

“Seniore Lestrange, would you happen to have a cigarette?”, She asked, trying her best not to slur.

“My Lady, I am trying to quit.”

“Pity, I'm trying to start.”

Looking at her awkwardly, Gimbiatti handed her a cigarette, and lit it with a match.

“Thank you, Seniore.”

Eileen Prince put her most gracious attempt forward to venture to the backyard. When she stepped out, she was greeted by the crisp, misted taste of mid-autumn air. She took a drag of her cigarette, it tasted like mint crossed with road mud. Watching the gossamer tendrils of smoke drift and dissipate brought her a slight wave of calm...which was unfortunately short-lived when the sound of moaning reached her ears. It was coming from the side of the house. God be damned, father, you and Aunt Jenny just couldn't wait, could you? Yet when she strode to the source of the sound, she didn't see a grotesque display of fornication between her father and aunt.

The thrall's garish, crimson painted hair flew about in a rhythmic mess in time with his thrusts. Stepping closer, she could hear the regular thump-thump-thump of her head hitting the siding of the house. He had her serving dress pulled down about her waist, and the skirts hiked up to her hips. It was like watching a high-speed traffic accident unfold before her; as indecent as it was to look upon, a morbid fascination kept her eyes glued to the scene. The thrall's dead eyes looked into his face the entire time, showing only the barest iota of understanding as to what was happening. There was no resistance on her part. She knows what she was bought for. Eileen's stomach turned as she watched a rivulet of drool spill onto the thrall's exposed breast. She had seen enough.

“Severus!”

He turned to her startled, nearly dropping the thrall...and then continued the deed. “Just, give me a second.”, he said breathlessly. “I'm almost there, sweetling.” 

There was not enough booze or nicotine in the world to curb the edge on what was happening right now. She just stood there, black eyes wide and blanker than the thrall's. She went to take a drag on her cigarette, but it had already ashed down to the filter. A thousand thoughts flew through her mind, each more violent that the last. I am going to walk out of this house wearing a suit made out of my father's skin, drinking gin out of my aunt's thick, empty skull, and drive away in a car with your cock as a hood ornament. 

Cousin Severus, who had apparently reached satisfaction as his new wife contemplated   
what he would look like without a head, ordered the thrall to wash her hands and make sure the ice cube trays were filled. He turned to face Eileen. 

“I'm sorry you had to see that, dearest, but well, you know how trigger happy the first soldier is.”, he put his hands on her waist. “You have to get him knocked out before the real action sta-”

She slapped him so hard he nearly fell backwards. He stared at her, crown askew on his head, utterly dumbstruck, nursing his cheek.

“I don't believe this, I don't believe you-”

“Relax, Eileen! It was only a thrall. I was only getting ready for you.”

“Getting ready for me!? Oh no, Severus. You get ready for a jog with a stretch, you get ready for a meal with an appetizer. You do not get ready for your wife with a WHORE!”, she spat, black eyes flashing.

“Listen, sweets, I didn't think you'd take it so personally. It won't happen again, I promise.”, he reached out to take her hand, which she violently slapped away.

“DON'T TOUCH ME!”, she was breathing heavy, her teeth were bared. With a deep breath she tried to regain what was left of her composure. “So you promise it won't happen again? Well, that's just lovely. I'm so glad this little roadbump in our loving partnership has been smoothed out! After all, I'm just so LUCKY to have you! I couldn't be more proud to be the wife of Severus LXVIII! It's been my one dream since I was a little girl to be married to such an abhorrent, pompous, insufferable, dunderheaded, PIG!”

He wiped her spittle from his eyes. “Eileen...”

“Do you think I want to be here!? Do you think I wanted any of this? Did you think I wanted...you?”

He staggered back slightly, as if she had slapped him again. He was silent for a time. “No.”, he met her eyes with stony resolve. “But, you have me, and I have you, and this can either be easy or hard.”

Tears welled in her onxy eyes. She slowly walked backwards, nearly tripping on her heels. Turning away from him, she began to weep in earnest, and slowly tread back into the house. 

Inside, the festivities continued. Gimbiatti Lestrange was beyond drunk and telling bawdy jokes to a group of howling men and blushing women. A few of the Malfoys got together and were shooting dice at a table in the corner. Towards the back of the room she could spy her father's face buried in tits the size of bolsters, which belonged to none other than Aunt Jenny. No one paid any mind to the crying bride in the middle of the room. Between the booziness caused by the drinks and her jumpy, restricted breathing, the circus of filth before her began to blur and spin. Stumbling, she found the stairs, and walked up to her new bedroom.

Slamming the door shut behind her, she quickly slipped out of her cumbersome bridal gown and threw it into a heap on the floor. Wearing nothing but her skivvies and jewels, she sank into a chair that was set by a vanity immediately to her right. In her reflection, she saw her eyes were raw from crying, her makeup, haphazard smears of red, purple, and black across her face. Her hair was a ratty mess of midnight curls sticking out every which way from underneath a tilted tiara. A fitting image for this fairytale ending. 

Looking into the mirror again, she spied something hanging from the canopy of the bed behind her. It was a lacy, red neglige, complete with feathers around the top. No doubt, this was the garb intended for her virginity to be served in tonight. A fresh wave of tears and rage came over her. She sprung to her feet, knocking the chair to the floor. In one fell swoop, she tore the offending garment off the hanger and began assaulting it. Piece by piece she tore it to shreds, lacy shrapnel and red feathers fluttering down around her. As if she could not be pushed further, cousin Severus entered the room. 

He looked upon her with wide, confused eyes. “Not a fan of Victoria's Secret, I take it?”, he smirked. She glared daggers at him. Sighing, he placed the crown of Severus the Conqueror on the bedside table and ran a hand through his white-blond hair. Curiously, he picked up a loose red strip of the once-lingerie and began tying it tightly around his forearm. 

“Listen, Eileen”, he said, as he brought out the wooden box her father had given him earlier. “I know we're not exactly Cinderella and Prince Charming.” He lifted the lid. Inside were tiny little bags, each stamped with little stars and the phrase 'cloud 9' on them. “But, you're here, I'm here. I say we try and make the best of things.” He opened up a small drawer on the nightstand, and pulled out a syringe, a lighter, and a spoon. Eileen gaped at him in disbelief. “I think you should have some, it'll help you relax.”

“You're joking, right?”

“Your dad brews the finest China White in the business. Nothing but your loss there, sweetheart.”

Eileen crossed her arms and angrily sat on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. She brooded in silence, noticing for the first time the full moon that hung over the black horizon. Would that I was a Werewolf. Her musings were interrupted by the cold, veiny, hands of cousin Severus undoing the clasp of her bra. 

“What are you doing?”, she snapped, turning around.

He looked at her as if she had just grown a second head. “Consummating our marriage.”, he stated matter-of-factly. 

“Severus.”, she sighed and looked at him pleadingly. “My head hurts, I'm tired, I'm drained in every way possible. Please...can't we just do this another night?”

His face turned to stone in the darkness. “I realize we're very different people, Eileen, but I have put forth every effort tonight to make you a happy little bride. All of which, has been met by your bitching, your shrieking, and your tears. Take off your fucking panties. Now”

“No, Severus. Please...”, she cried and trembled. 

Reaching into the drawer where he got the syringe and spoon, he produced a small object. 

“Severus, please...”

He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her onto the bed with such force that for a terrified second she feared it had been ripped from it's socket. From the tiny object flipped open a blade that shone razor sharp in the moonlight. He grabbed her close and held her tightly from behind. Eileen went numb. All she could feel was the blade against her throat, his throbbing manhood against her thighs, and her rapid pulse pounding in her ears.

“I told you, sweetling, this can either be easy,” he hacked off her panties with the switchblade. “Or, this can be hard.”

He rammed her in one stroke.


	3. Don't Forget To Scream When You Wake Up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opportunity knocks. Will Eileen Prince take the one chance she has to change her fate?

**“Who are you and who am I, to say we know the reason why? Some are born; Some men die, beneath one infinite sky. There'll be war and there'll be peace, but everything one day will cease. All the iron turned to rust, all the proud men turned to dust. -Pink Floyd, Childhood's End**

Subject no. 394 – age 10: Typhus injected via spine. Reaction not yet apparent 

Subject no. 395 – age 8: Cranial impact delivered every 10 seconds. 2:46 p.m. - Skull has begun to fracture. 5:32 p.m – Subject has begun to show developments of psychosis. 7:15 p.m – Subject dead via hemorrhaging.

Subject no. 396 – age 9: Week 3 infected with tuberculosis. Remedy attempts have resulted in failure. Send for extermination. 

_I poured over the photos attached to the notes. All the children in them were about my age, only they looked near death; they all had the similar appearance of being a single layer of skin stretched too-thin over bare bones. Some of them had great big growths in their backs and legs, or didn't have legs at all. One little girl had her eyes taken out of her head and was hooked up to some strange machine. Another only had a head, which was wired to a crude, skeletal looking, metal 'body.'_

_“Grandpa, I thought you said you were a doctor?”_

_“I am a doctor, silly boy.”, he smiled, ruffling my hair._

_“I thought doctors were supposed to make people better...it looks like you made them sick.”_

_Grandpa put his arm around my shoulders, and looked down thoughtfully. “Well, you see, Severus, it's like the old American saying goes. If you want to make an omelet, you have to open up a few eggs.”_

_“It looks like you had to open up a few people.”_

_Grandpa chuckled. “Yes, well, what I mean to say is...we are men of science, little Severus-”_

_“I'm not little anymore, Grandpa.”_

_He looked at me with mock-crossness. “My apologies, Your Grace.”, he said, playfully tweaking my nose. “Anyway, as I was saying, we are men of science. As such, in order to further our knowledge, in order to achieve progress, it's necessary that we...experiment..._

Subjects no. 397 & 398 – age 11: Adrenaline glands harvested and added directly to Xenochrome potion. Final product twice as potent as previous batch. (Keep bodies at room temperature, perhaps?) 

Subject no. 399 – age 14: Placed in decompression chamber, altitude of 18,256 m simulated. Did not survive. 

_“Sure, rats can be used, or cats, or dogs. However, once you've been allowed to dabble on the human canvas...that is where science becomes art. More than that even...”_

_His hand drifted toward a chess set on the bedside table. He began fiddling with one of the pawns, somewhat unconsciously._

_“I mean, when you're experimenting on props or animals, it's like playing with toys. However, when you hold human life in your hands...when you can lay it on a table, shape it, mold it, change it, twist it...”, he began to lightly flick the chess pieces over, one by one. “It's practically like playing God.”_

_Grandpa seemed to be very far away. I watched as he sat there, mindlessly tipping over the chess pieces, gazing out to space with eyes of glass; whatever scene was playing out behind them, I couldn't even begin to guess. I picked up the box of notes and photos again, reaching in and taking out the first Polaroid I touched. This one presented a somewhat lighter tone. It was of Grandpa, looking young and jubilant, arm-in-arm with another doctor, both smiling on the edge of laughter. This must have been his partner...The other man stood slightly shorter than Grandpa. He had neatly cropped brown hair and brown eyes, and sported a slight gap between his front teeth. If one didn't know better, you could say they were college boys at a frat party. I turned the Polaroid over in my hands. There was writing scrawled on the back:_

Drs. Prince and Mengele.

12 April, 1943

Auschwitz.

….................................................

The air tasted gray. Dust. Asbestos. Mildew. More dust. Yes, gray. It was the only way she really could describe the distinct smell that permeated the air of long, long, abandoned buildings. It was so cold the misted clouds of her breath were visible in the dim, off-white light of empty winter. The only sound that could be heard was radio static that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. Where am I? 

“Hello!”, she called. The only response was the echo that reverberated from a thousand empty rooms.

To her left there was a doorway leading to a stairwell. Cautiously, she entered. It must go up at least 20 stories. One by one she ascended, looking for any sign of life. Every single doorway she encountered was boarded up by planks. Here and there she could spot rectangular discolorations in the walls, as if they were once adorned by pictures or paintings. Every window was shattered, leaving small shards of glass on the ground which were all but buried in dust; Eileen had to tread carefully to avoid a possible sliced foot. 

“Hellooo!”, she called out again. Ello-ello-ello. No sound, but for the radio static. Seeds of fear began to crack and spread in the pit of her stomach. Her fingers became icy and numb as she continued to climb flight after flight of stairs. Suddenly, a black particle of sorts bounded toward her, so quickly her eyes couldn't even take it in; it landed square in the middle of her chest, moving and twitching, the sensation of a waxy feather. She felt long antennae caress the underside of her chin, as her heart stopped. Squealing, she spastically clawed at her chest, sending the offending creature hurling to the floor. The insect bore the body of a cockroach and the long, arched legs of a spider, she had never seen anything quite like it. Turning forward again, she saw another, and another.

When she reached the next small landing, she found their source. In the corner lay a decayed mass of orange fur, black rot and bone that had once been a fox. The strange insects crawled inside and out of its mouth, and various other orifices formed of decomposition. They had no wings, but could jump well over Eileen's head, and seemed to be eerily attracted to her. Instinctively pulling her arms close to her body and shielding her face with her hands, she ran up the next flight of stairs, spasmodically swatting at her hair and arms when she felt a phantom crawling sensation. She didn't stop running until she was three flights clear of the fox and any sign of the bugs. Finding herself at another main landing, she stopped to catch her breath. In front of her, was another boarded-up doorway. On the wall along the stairs leading upwards, someone had tagged graffiti in black spray paint:

NIGHT CREW WAS HERE.

Was it her fear-struck imagination, or was the radio static growing louder? She turned again to the boarded entryway, running her fingers along dust-coated plywood. So caked in dust, it was barely discernible from the rest of the wall, a plaque was imbedded. Eileen brushed off the thick coating of dust to reveal its lettering. 

Gryffindor! Where dwell the brave at heart!

“The entrance to Gryffindor tower...Hogwarts...no, this can't be.”, she whispered to herself, the words drifting from her mouth in tufts of mist that dissipated in the stillness. However, when she looked upon her surroundings again, she knew them. The stairs lie motionless, the walls barren, everything around her in a state of at least 5 decades of undisturbed decay, yet...here she stood, at what could only be Hogwarts. This can't be real...I don't understand.

Tapping. Light and scattered, yet rhythmic. Small footsteps. “Hello! Who's there?” No response. The tapping fades into the distance, leaving only echoes behind. Eileen ran, taking the rest of the steps two at a time, until breathlessly, she reached an open corridor. It was long and desolate as the rest of the forsaken castle. She could spot patches of black mold growing on the walls. To her left, someone had tagged more graffiti, in the same black spraypaint.

ROCK ME, AMADEUS! 

Walking along, she simply stared in disbelief at the rotting emptiness bathed in gray winter's light coming from the shattered windows. Above, it looked like an intercom speaker had become the home to a small nest of wasps. Amazingly enough, it must still be operational, as it was from there the radio static was emitting. This doesn't make any sense...I was here as a student no more than 8 years ago. There was no word in the papers of any sort of shutdown. Off to the side, she spied a lone table, on top of which lay a book. Curiously, she picked it up, brushing away the dust and cobwebs which had long since settled on it. 

Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion Making. She remembered having the same textbook during her sixth year of school. When she opened the book, however, every single page was occupied with the same thing. One bizarre line of text, repeated over and over and over again.

And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes. And he shall storm the Earth, wielding a wand of steel, leaving naught in his wake but triumph and ashes.....

SCREEEEEECH...SCREEEEECH! 

Eileen threw the book in the air, gasping, clutching at a heart that felt close to bursting. She eyed the intercom speaker, which had begun emitting bizarre sounds, not even daring to breathe.

SCREEEEEECH...SCREEEEECH!

On second hearing, she knew the sounds to be vaguely familiar. They were the tones that would play on muggle television sets, before a test of the emergency broadcast system. The sound was setting her teeth on edge. She wanted to scream. After a few grueling seconds, an eerily monotone, automated female voice began to speak.

Alpha. Yankee. Foxtrot. Alpha. Yankee. Foxtrot. Three. Nine. Seven. One. Five. Three. Nine. Seven. One. Five....

The robotic voice continued to drone out strings of numbers amidst waves of static, speaking to empty corridors in this strange place that time had forgotten. Eileen continued down the way, dazedly gazing out of shattered windows as she passed, watching snow fall over the Forbidden Forest, which had been stripped bare by the cold season.

One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight. One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight.....

Eileen's foot caught on something lying on the floor. She flailed her arms and tried to steady herself, though to no avail, she came crashing to the ground, luckily landing on her hands. The offending object appeared to be someone's discarded school uniform. Gray vest and pants, blue and bronze tie, a Ravenclaw. When Eileen pulled herself into a sitting position, she realized her hands were covered in something other than dust. She rubbed between her fingers something gray and black and sooty. Ashes. Gingerly picking up the vest, she watched as it shed a pile of ashes onto the ground, as well as some solid white fragments of a sort. She picked up the fragments for closer inspection, nearly vomiting when she realized what they were. In her hand she held human teeth.

One. Nine. Two. Seven. Four. One. Nine. Two. Seven. Four.....

Eileen could no longer stifle the urge to scream. Scrambling to her feet, she hurled the teeth at the wall and began feverishly wiping her hands on her dress. She wanted to tear off her own skin; no part of her felt clean. The sound of small footsteps threw her from hysterics to pure, frozen, baited breath terror. They were steadily coming closer.

Seven. Eight. Four. Nine. Four. Seven. Eight. Four. Nine. Four.....

Click-clack-click-clack. Nearer and nearer. It was all Eileen could do to just keep breathing. A small figure appeared at the far end of the corridor; a little boy. Knees trembling, she strode over to the short, skinny silhouette, not even daring to speak. They regarded each other in silence. The boy donned rich, black robes, which strongly contrasted his milk-white skin. His hair was a mess of ebony that fell just below his chin, framing strikingly cold black eyes. On his head sat a crown, cut from golden-yellow construction paper. Eileen noticed uncomfortably that it was stained with red splotches.

“Mother...”, the child cooed, flashing her a grin.

“I-I think you're mistaken, sweetheart.”, Eileen had never seen this child in her life.

“I'm never wrong.”, The child's eyes flashed dangerously, his face quickly reflecting annoyance.

“Do you know what happened here, dearheart?”, She bent to his level and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Progress.”, He replied simply, his frown turning to a prideful grin. “Do you want to see what I've got upstairs?”

“Please, child, if you know this place, could you show me out? All the exits I've found are boarded up. I just want to leave.”

One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight. One. Five. Seven. Two. Eight.....

He offered her his hand, which she took. “This way.” He began to lead her up the stairs. If memory served, this was the way up to the astronomy tower.

“Where are you going? These stairs lead to the astronomy tower, there's no way out up there.”

“I know a gentleman who might disagree with that assessment.”

“I don't understand, what is it that you want?”

He grabbed her other hand and yanked her down to his level. He looked into her eyes for a moment, and then brought his lips to her ear and whispered...”I want everything.” The words held such gravitas that it sent a sharp chill down Eileen's spine.

“What-”

“Hush!”, He squeezed her hands in his and jerked her forward slightly. For a bony child, he had a scary amount of strength. “Wait'll you see what I have upstairs.” 

As she followed the child, hand-in-hand up the stairs, she noticed more discarded uniforms littered about. What in God's name could have happened here? This can't be real... 

Seven. Eight. Four. Five. One. Seven. Eight. Four. Five. One....

The child released her hand when they reached the top of the tower. The large steel globe that occupied the center of the balustrade was rusted beyond repair. Next to it stood a simple picnic table that bore a cardboard box.

“What is it that you wanted to show me?”

The child ushered her over to the table, a grin of satisfaction on his face. He has eyes like mine...that hair too... She had also seen that grin before. It was her father's; the look of utter satisfaction crossed with crazed, childlike excitement that he reserved specifically for times when he completed a project, reached a new milestone in potion making, or was sharing tales of the SS.

The child wrapped his long, slender fingers around the lid of the box. “Look.” He removed the lid, and Eileen's stomach let go. When she had passed the first wave of vomit, she dared to take a second look of the horror in the box. It was a woman's severed head. Her hair was a deep shade of crimson, her skin pure white tinged with blue from her burgeoning decay. Her eyes might have been green once, but it was hard to tell. The strange jumping spiders that were eating away at the fox had all but devoured her eyes. She watched as they crawled in and out of her mouth and neck, their larvae wriggling around in the rotten meat.

“Isn't she a beauty?” Eileen only stared, frozen in terror. “Come, I'll show you the way out.” He moved a couple feet to the edge of the balustrade, and beckoned her to come over. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream, but she didn't dare do a thing that might provoke the child. The sharp chill of winter nearly froze her forming tears to her eyelashes. She grasped the railing and peered over the edge of the tower. What she saw brought forth a terrified whimper from her lips. A body, being picked clean by ravens. She looked in disgust as one of the carrion tore tender skin off the dead man's face and flew off into the gray sky with a beak full of flesh. The man was dressed in long, elegant robes of blue and purple. His hair and lengthy beard were the same shade of aged white. Mother of God, it was Dumbledore down there!

“This is the only way out. Sorry mother.” Small, slender hands rammed her back with the strength of a grown man. She screamed so hard her throat nearly burst as she careened backwards towards the Earth. She could still see the child, bending over the railing, his ebony hair fanning out in the wind around a face that was howling with laughter. His words echoed through her brain.

“Sorry, mother.”

“Mother.”

“Mother.”

“Mother!”

“MOTHER!”

Eileen jerked awake with a start, panting heavily as she found her son's hazel eyes looking down at her.

“Mother, I'm bored. I want to-”

She cut him off with a frenzied embrace, holding the small boy to her trembling, cold-sweat drenched body. Looking over his shoulder, she came across the half empty bottle of quaaludes she left on the coffee table. Looks like Mommy's little helper got the best of me. Her son's fine, white-blonde hair felt like silk between her fingers as she stroked it. “Oh, my baby. My sweet baby. I had the most horrible dream.”

“I'm not a baby!”, he said indignantly.

“Oh, Viserus, you'll always be my baby. Don't you forget that.”, She whispered, releasing him from her embrace and looking him in the eye. The three-year-old smiled in spite of himself. 

“What were you dreaming about, Mom?” 

“I dreamed that I had a different little boy...he was nothing like you.”, she squeezed her child's hand. “He wasn't like any child that I've ever come across. He was evil and he kept showing me dead things. It was horrible.”

“Grandpa says that dreams are like jigsaw puzzles. You get a bunch of pieces of picture, but they don't make any sense because they're all scrambled. But, if you're smart you can put them together, and they'll show you a picture of the future.”, he spread his hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture. “I have lots of scary dreams, too. There's one I've had twice. I'm playing Quidditch, and then all of a sudden my body turns into a hamburger and I get sucked into this big, scary white light. After that, a bunch of ladies wearing white tell me I'm in heaven. Grandpa says...if you have the same dream three times that it's sure to come true in real life!” His eyes began to tear and his voice became shaky. “I've had that dream two times, mom. What if...what if I have it a third time?” 

She pulled Viserus onto her lap and hugged him close. “Viserus, do you remember that talk we had about Grandpa?”

“The one where you told me that I need to pour salt on him?”

She laughed out loud. “I think you're a little mixed up, sweetling. I said that you need to take what he says with a pinch of salt. It's an old expression. It means that Grandpa...let's just say...isn't always right about everything.” He looked up at her with wide eyes that didn't understand or believe how that could ever be possible. She only sighed. “Why don't you go wake up Dad and see if he wants to take you on a broom ride?” His face beamed into a smile and he ran up the stairs. The boy simply adored flying, and it was a treat he seldom got to indulge in, as his father was rarely home, and when he was home, his mind floated off with what flowed through his arm.

Eileen lit a cigarette and dragged deep. Tendrils of smoke hovered and snaked out in the light of the late afternoon sun. She rested her back against the couch and just took a moment to enjoy the sound of silence. It had been a blissfully peaceful week. Aunt Jenny was off on a two week vacation to Hawaii with the Studworths, and Eileen was on a two week vacation from Aunt Jenny. For two whole weeks she was spared the usual barrage of criticism that followed basically anything she did. Her cooking was too bland, she was babying Viserus too much, her taste in clothing was too plain, her tits were too small, she was too skinny...and the list went on. If that hag walked as much as she bitched, she might actually be in shape, Eileen mused.

'And Viserus!? What kind of a name is Viserus!?', her Aunt would rant at least once a day. Oh, the flack she caught over that name. Of course, if anyone had actually been there when she was in childbed with him, that whole situation might have been avoided. Being that her darling husband was out with God knows who, Aunt Jenny was God knows where, and her father was doing God knows what, she had to apparrate to St. Mungo's alone. When the healers placed the wailing infant into her arms and asked what the boy's name shall be, she had meant to say Severus. However, she was so zonked up on pain potions, that she had responded in a drawled, mess of syllables that sounded something like 'vvvsssserrrrrveersssss', which the hospital clerk had interpreted to Viserus. With no one around to correct her, and it being too late to change the records, Eileen was sent home three days later with a baby boy who bore a slurred perversion of the traditional family name. In truth, deep down, she couldn't think of anything more amusing.

Her little Prince Viserus was truly her only joy in the life she now led. Her relationship with her husband had evolved into a venomous paradox wherein she managed to both hate his absence and his presence. She hated when he was around, ambling around the house with his eyes rolling back in his head like the heroin space cadet that he was. Even more so, she abhorred providing the sex he so vehemently demanded, and he knew it. She had even told him to just get his jollies off with the thralls and just leave her alone. To cousin Severus, however, 'no' meant 'yes', and 'leave me alone' meant 'fuck me harder.' She hated when he wasn't around because of what it would do to Viserus. Through his three-year-old eyes, the drugged up waste of carbon was still his father. A man who, during the rare times he was awake and alert, would bounce him on his knee and take him for broom rides. To a boy that young, she supposed Dad would always take the guise of a ten-foot-tall superhero, regardless of who they actually were behind their upraised mid-peekaboo hands. When he was away, she would often catch Viserus peering out the window with a look of melancholy spread across his small features, wondering when dad would come sauntering up the walkway.

The boy did not lack for male company though, oh no. Good ol' Grandpa had been showing him the ropes of life, death, and the wizarding world before he could even hold his own head up. He would spend hours, just prattling on, and on, and on, throwing reservation and any sense of age apropos to the wind while her boy listened intently and poured over old pictures the man would bring. She had once tried to forbid her father from having contact with her son, when one night Viserus began asking such questions as 'What's a mudblood?', 'What does nuclear winter mean?', and 'Did Adolf Hitler really have a spaceship?'. She had railed on Dr. Prince the next day, asking him if he was out of his mind, screaming that he was never to visit her son again. Of course, her father only met her concerns with his usual 'And how do you propose to stop me?'. 

How did she? Three against one, that was the story of her life. She could rage against her husband, but it would only upset Aunt Jenny, who controlled the household's income. She could rage against Aunt Jenny, but that would upset her husband, who controlled the fathering of her son. She could rage against her father, but he had control over Aunt Jenny, who had control over the money and control over her husband, who had control over the fathering of her son. She could rage against all three of them, threaten to leave and never come back, as she did so many times, but all three would cry in chorus 'excommunication from the family forever', and would share the story of the penniless single mother named Eileen Prince who had to whore herself on the ghetto streets just to feed her starving son. And then there was Viserus, who so cherished Dad's broom rides, Grandma's home baked peanut butter cookies, and Grandpa's stories. The little boy who counted down the days to Christmases where he would receive droves of presents and enjoy a night of partying with his Mom, Dad, and Grandparents. Viserus, he controlled her heart, and he was coming down the stairs right now with a used syringe in his hands.

“Mom, Dad won't get up.”, he whined, with his tiny fingers wrapped around the barrel of the syringe. Eileen ran to him.

“Viserus, give that to me! Where did you get this!?”, She took the syringe out of his hand slowly and carefully, so as to not prick either one of them with the needle and threw it in the trash. Her son cowed at her sudden change of tone.

“It-it was in Dad's arm. I thought he hurt himself, I just wanted to help him.”, he shakily explained.

“Listen, sweetheart, I want you to stay right here on the couch. I need to have a talk with your father. Don't move until I come back down to get you, okay?”

He sat down and nodded to her, eyes wide and lips pursed. Turning her back to him, she marched up the stairs, shaking with rage. Cousin Severus had finally gone and done it, he'd shown their boy his habit in all its ugliness, exposed him to drugs, and let him hold a dirty needle. She didn't give a damn what the consequences were, she was going to let him have it, she was going to kill him, only....she wouldn't have to. When she kicked open the door to their bedroom, cousin Severus did not move. He sat propped against the bedside table, caught in a tangle of crimson sheets and blankets that were still half on the mattress. His right arm was a shade of blueish purple that could match the dress she was wearing. The blueish tint crept all the way up his neck towards his mouth, where clumps of white foam were crusting over. His toes were beginning to turn black. A very slight, faint odor was beginning to waft from his body due to the summer heat. At the very least, his eyes were closed, so he merely looked asleep in the eyes of Viserus. Eileen just stared, rubbed her eyes, and stared some more, little by little letting the image in front of her permeate her current reality. As first order of business, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten, and then calmly walked out of the room and closed the door behind her. 

“Viserus, sweetheart!” She called from upstairs.

“Yeah mom?”

“I need you to go to your room and shut the door please.”

“Am I in trouble, mom?”

“No, just please, do as I say.”

Without another word he scuttled up the stairs and down the opposite hall to his bedroom and did as he was bid. Eileen was not a particularly squeamish person, she had seen death and bodies before...just never close enough to smell. She didn't feel up to going back in the bedroom just yet. She paced up and down the hall, trying as best she could to shake off the initial shock of what just happened and collect her thoughts. He's dead...he's really dead...the bastard's finally gone and done it. I told him a thousand times that he was going to turn up blue one day if he kept shooting up that shit and now it's finally happened. There was no love lost between Eileen and her now late husband. There was neither grief nor sadness in her heart, and quite frankly, not even surprise. All there was, was anger. Her husband lay peacefully in his grave a few feet away. The manner of his death was probably painless as falling asleep after a hot meal. The crude, thoughtless, brainless, useless son of a bitch died in total satisfaction.

As for Eileen, she would be the one who would have to look a three-year-old in the eyes and tell him that Daddy was never going to wake up again. She would be the one who would have to face his tears when she told him there would be no more broom rides, because Dad was too in love with a drug that made him sleepy to give any kind of thought to his family. She would be the one who would have to face a thousand questions from Aunt Jenny, and every day from this day forward somehow be blamed for his death because she was his wife and goddamn it she should have done something. She could see it all now, playing out in her head. Her father and Aunt Jenny feeding her son stories about how his mother drove his father to the needle with her frigid ways and did nothing to help him. Her son would grow to hate and resent her, and day by day he would fall deeper into Aunt Jenny and her father's web of insanity. He would drift away from her, grow up, and start spewing racial slurs like 'mudblood' and 'half-breed' left and right. He'd marry a Lestrange or a Studworth, have children of his own and teach them what he'd been taught, leaving his mother forgotten and alone.

With shaking hands, she lit another cigarette and leaned against the railing at the landing of the stairs. She turned her eyes toward the huge tapestry that hung above the main doors of the home. It illustrated the Prince family tree. At the far edge of it, she could see Viserus' little white haired head which had just been added. Her eyes absently followed the intricate web of faces and names that spanned 40 centuries, traveling upward as the skin tone of each face slowly went from sallow white, to lightly tanned, to dark. Further upward, the English alphabet ended and Egyptian hieroglyphics began. Her eyes scanned all the way up until she reached the top, which of course was none other than Severus The Conqueror, flanked by his two sister-wives. How do you like us now?, she mentally asked the image on the tapestry, which stared stoically down at her through cold, black eyes painted with cat-like eyeliner. What would you say if you knew that one of your supposed 'great descendants' is lying dead in the next room like a common muggle junkie? Would you still look so goddamn smug up there, you great hardass?

Eileen thought back to one of her father's visits to the house. It was late at night and she had just put Viserus to bed. She was deep in her cups already and her father had just settled down on the couch and began pouring himself a drink. Her mind was hazily drifting through memories of old events, and a question occurred to her. She turned to her father and asked, 'So, is this one, Dad? Is this your great king come again? Is this what I had to sell my life for? Will little Viserus be our promised champion that we just had to have?' Her voice dripped mocking sarcasm, but as always, her father's face betrayed no emotion. 'He's a good boy.', he replied, taking a swig of his scotch. That was it. After all his diatribe of conquerors and kings that had been the driving force of Eileen's arranged marriage, that was all the old man had to say about the final product. Did he just happen to forget about his obsession over his little prophecy? Or, was he, for some reason, waiting for something else? Eileen honestly didn't care. Her life was what it was and there was nothing she could do to change it. Like it or not though, it had now changed all by itself. While she could abide what it had been for the past four years, she knew the misery that was sure to come would break her. 

Unless...the safe. There was a safe in the bedroom that contained all the money her husband had on hand at any given time. Aunt Jenny may have been a mollycoddler, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew if cousin Severus had free reign over the family's money it would be pissed away in a matter of weeks. Therefore, she regulated his funds in the form of a monthly allowance which he kept locked away in the safe. There was never a king's ransom in there, but it was usually a good, hard sum. Eileen had snuck a peek at her husband dialing in the combination one night, and for some time stole galleons from the safe for shopping trips here and there, as she was allowed no personal funds of her own. When cousin Severus discovered money was slowly going missing, he charmed the safe so none but he could open it. Now that he was dead...his magic was dead with him.

Eileen darted back into the bedroom, doing her best to avert her eyes from the corpse and ignore the odor. Carefully, she input the combination. A surge of excitement shot through her as she heard the satisfying click and opened up the little door. As fast as she could, she counted out a total of 3,000 galleons and stuffed them in her purse. It wasn't a fortune, but it was enough to get her and Viserus room and board for a while in England. It was enough to start a new life for her and her son. He's lost his father, a voice in her head told her, you would have him lose his beloved grandmother and grandfather, too? All in the same day? Eileen knew that if she left for England there would be no turning back. She'd have to sever all contact with her family forever. While that was no tragedy to her, it would hurt Viserus terribly. It may hurt him for a long time. However, he was only three. He would heal. He would forget. She would rather bestow upon her son one period of pain and grief than a lifetime of brainwashing by insane blood purists and wannabe royals.

Hurriedly, she pulled out her suitcases from the closet and began to pack all the belongings she would need. Clothes, toiletries, a select few favorite books, brushes, jewels, shoes, and....the glimmering gold and emerald artifact caught her eye from the ornate showcase in which it was housed. The crown of Severus The Conqueror. We could live for years on what that crown would yield, should we sell it to a museum... She sauntered slowly to the showcase, carefully opening the glass. As she raised her fingers to the crown, however, an unpleasant knot formed in her stomach. Something about this...just felt wrong. She recalled an article she once read about the RMS Titanic. Supposedly, a wealthy American archeologist had brought the mummified remains of the princess of Amen-Ra on board the ship, meaning to transport them to New York. Legend had it that the mummy was cursed. Eileen was never a superstitious woman and rarely gave thought to the paranormal, but...2,000 people went to their icy deaths on that boat. Severus The Conqueror's crown was said to be cursed as well; that it would bring death and misery to those who wore it unjustly. To have that crown in her possession just felt strangely unclean to her. Besides, it was a fresh, new life she wanted, away from all the ludicrous, antiquated traditions and customs of the Princes. She decided to leave the crown behind.

Eileen once again turned to the corpse of her husband. She noticed uncomfortably that a small crowd of fruit flies were beginning to explore his milk-white and purple flesh. Holding her breath, she bent down and flicked off the gold watch he was wearing, then stripped him of his chains and rings as well. Lastly, she removed the two ridiculous looking golden earrings he always insisted on wearing. With them gone, he might have actually looked better, if he wasn't dead. After she packed away the jewelery , she grabbed the comforter from the bed and respectfully laid it over cousin Severus' corpse. It was, after all, the least she could do. 

Backing away from the body, she carefully scanned over the room, seeing if there was anything else worth taking. Her eyes fell to five porcelain figurines on the dresser. How could she forget? As much as she wanted to leave her old life behind, she would not abandon the Night Crew. The little figures had always represented the happy times in her youth, the days worth remembering. Grabbing some old Daily Prophet pages from the bedside table, she carefully wrapped up the dark prince, the mystic princess, the innocent unicorn, the golden knight, and the hard at work blacksmith, and set them inside the suitcase. She had packed all she needed, but now came the hardest part. She took one last sweeping look around the room, knowing it would be the last time she would ever do so, grabbed her luggage, walked out and shut the door behind her. Down the opposite end of the hallway was her son in his bedroom. Her little boy who thought his Dad was merely sleeping too heavily, who had no idea that this would be his last day in his home, and expected a fun filled visit from his Grandfather before the week was out.

Eileen walked down the hall and opened the door to his bedroom with a heart as heavy as lead. She searched and searched her mind, but the words just could not be found.

“Viserus, dearheart, I.....I.....I need you to pack up your things.”

“Why, mom?”

Why? “Because...we're going on a trip.”

A look of confusion spread over the child's features. “Why? Where are we going?”

Why, why, why...the eternal why of a child. This isn't going to be easy. Eileen knelt down to her son's level, feigning a look of excitement on her face. “Sweetheart, do you know how you're always telling me how badly you want to take a ride on the Knight Bus?”

He nodded. “Well guess what?”

“What?”

“Today, we're gonna get to take a ride on the Knight Bus all the way to England! Just you and me! Won't that be so much fun!”, She smiled and batted her eyes at him.

The child beamed. “Really!?”

“Yes! Now you make sure you collect up all the toys you want to bring and Mommy will help pack up your clothes, okay?”

He nodded, smiling from ear to ear, and began fritzing around the room, not knowing what to pack first. Well that accomplished something, at least... In between folding Viserus' little garments and packing them away, Eileen called up the Knight Bus customer service line and requested pickup for the first bus bound to England. At 6:30 p.m., her and Viserus would be boarding bus #1202, which would take them from Frankfurt to a town called Spinner's End, in Cokeworth, England. A place I've never been to, a place I've never heard of, a place I'd have no reason to be, a place my father or aunt or anyone else would never think to look...

At promptly 6:25 p.m., Eileen and Viserus stood at the front curb, luggage in hand. For the moment at least, the little boy had forgotten about his not-so-sleeping father, he was so excited about getting to ride the Knight Bus. Pangs of guilt gnawed at her chest at the sight of his carefree smile. She had to break the news to him somehow. Viserus was not a dull-witted boy, he would notice something was off about all of this sooner rather than later. For now though, all she wanted was to be safely on the bus, out of the open, low hanging evening sunlight which left her feeling so exposed. She felt a sense of foreboding in the air, an unpleasant, too-quiet stillness that bespoke something going wrong. Nervously, she glanced at her watch. 6:28...Come on.. 

And then, at the very edge of her hearing, there it was. The all too familiar swish and pop of someone apparrating nearby. Mother of God, not now... Apparrating guests always entered through the back door, so as to be out of sight by the various muggle residences on the street. She knew that for the moment at least, she had not been seen. Maybe whoever it is inside will assume we're not home, that I took Viserus to the playground...maybe they'll just leave, they won't think to go upstairs, to open the door to the bedroom. She glanced at her watch again. 6:29. Please, please, please...

“Grandpa!”

Fuck.

He would have run straight into the man's arms, had she not grabbed him by the collar. The child looked up at her, frightened and confused. Her father stood at the front door, his expression unreadable.

“Eileen, what is all this? Where are you going?”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Her mouth moved in vain to form words that could not be found. She had the look of a dear in headlights as her child struggled against her grasp. The sound of an engine slowly approached, and a moment later, a tall, purple bus came into view. In one fell swoop, her father's expression changed from guarded suspicion, to understanding, to unhinged fury.

“EILEEN! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!”, He broke into a run. Even at the age of 50, Dr. Prince could still beat most teenagers at a footrace.

The Knight Bus opened its doors. Eileen seized her son by his clothes and threw him on the bus, followed by the baggage. The driver, a wisp of a young man, only stared wide-eyed. 

“EEEEAAAHGH!” Eileen shrieked as her father's thin, bony fingers wrapped around her ankle and yanked. Her hands and knees scraped along the pavement, but she managed to scurry back to her feet, like an animal struggling against a predator. Viserus began to cry. The driver's eyes grew ever wider. 

“Eileen! Get my grandson off that bus! What the hell do you think you're doing!?”, His face was twisted with rage, spittle was flying from his mouth.

“I'm LEAVING! I'm DONE! I'm done with this family and I'm done with YOU! I won't have my son being raised around you degenerates anymore! And by the way, my ever-so-loving and cherished husband is DEAD! His corpse is in the bedroom, you can deal with the funeral expenses.”, Her voice was cracked from shrieking.

Her father was breathing heavily. His voice dropped to a low growl. “You...I'll find you. Wherever you go, I will find you, you cunt.”

“Save your energy for Aunt Jenny, Father, she's going to want a good romp in the sack to take her mind off her dead son. Or, is he your dead son, too? It wouldn't surprise me in the least.”

Dr. Prince lunged at his daughter in a maelstrom of unbridled fury, but Eileen was prepared. He cried out loud when her fist connected with his face, shattering his glasses and sending him flying backwards. Before her father could regain his footing, Eileen scrambled up onto the bus. The driver sat there, gaping. 

“What are you doing!? DRIVE!”

Snapping out of his trance, the driver quickly closed the sliding doors and put the bus in gear. Eileen caught one last glimpse of her father. Rivulets of blood ran down his face where shards of his ruined glasses dug into his flesh. His mouth ran wildly, spewing a string of profanity she would never hear, whilst he shook his fists. She turned towards the other passengers on board, all of which were staring at her with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“AND WHAT ARE ALL OF YOU GAWKING AT!?”, She shook her fist, which she now realized was dripping blood and had several chunks of glass sticking out of it. The other patrons of the bus hurriedly looked away and whispered amongst themselves. Grabbing onto a handrail, she took a moment to catch her breath and let a bit of her raging adrenaline subside before loading her luggage in the compartment of the nearest seat. 

“M-m-mommy? Dad is...d-d-dead? Why did you hit Grandpa? What's going on?”

She turned to find his little cherubic face stricken with abject horror. Shit. She did not want him to find out this way. Gently, she lifted him up and took her seat, cradling him on her lap. His tears shimmered in the light of the setting sun.

“Sweetheart, I...”

“We're never going back home again, are we, Mommy?” He was not a dull-witted boy.

“No, sweetling, no we're not. Your father won't be waking up again. And your grandpa, he's a bad man, a very bad man. One day, when you're older, I'll explain why-”

“I don't believe you!”, He cried in a voice brimming with sorrow and anger. “It's just like Grandpa says! You're a..a..a..a BITCH!”

“Viserus!! That talk stops right here, young man!”, She wondered what other colorful poetry her father had taught the boy.

“No! It's not fair! Why do we have to leave home? Grandpa never did anything wrong!”, Yes he did, Viserus, he cut up little kids like you and brewed their organs in his cauldron. But he probably told you Auschwitz was full of candy and fairy dust, didn't he?

“Viserus, I know it seems unfair right now, but believe me, one day you'll understand that things are better this way.”

“That's bullshit, Mom-”

“Viserus!”

“I want to go home! I want Grandma and Grandpa!” He began to sob in earnest; breathing in deeply and letting out screams of pure anguish. The sound of his cries carried through all three floors of the bus, as only a toddler's could. Eileen popped a quaalude and held her head in her hands. Well, this is going just swimmingly, isn't it?

“Hey, lady! How about you shut that kid up!”, One of the second floor passengers hollered.

“How about you go screw yourself!”, Whoever was up there backed off. Luckily, Viserus didn't hear her words over his tantrum. She didn't need to be teaching her son more filth. Nevertheless, she was not about to tolerate his ear-splitting screams for the next 7 hours. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a bottle of Kool Aid, Viserus' favorite drink. Turning her back to him, she pulled out a small vial of purple liquid as well. In one swift motion she discreetly poured the Draught of the Living Death into the Kool Aid. If all else fails...

“Viserus, sweetie”, She gently shook him and he turned to her, hyperventilating with a face beat red from crying. He looked at the bottle hungrily. “Why don't you take a drink, dear?”

Shakily, he took the bottle and slowly began to down the sugary spiked beverage. When he was finished, he made to start up his hysterics again, but the scream that escaped his lips quickly dipped to a low moan, and then silence. His head slumped and lightly hit the seat in front of him with a soft thump. Eileen slid the boy's body to a prone position on the seat and laid his head on her lap. Stroking his soft, white-blonde hair, she shifted her gaze out the window, absently watching the scenery fly by as the pleasantly dizzying effects of the quaalude began to kick in. She drifted off to sleep as the sun disappeared behind the hills, somewhere between Brussels and Ghent.

It was 1:25 a.m. when the driver announced 'This stop: Railview Hotel, Spinner's End.' Eileen gently nudged Viserus awake and collected her baggage. The child took her hand, still half asleep. Hopefully, he wouldn't regain full awareness until morning, granting Eileen time for a much needed hot shower. She tipped the driver, exited the bus, and made her way towards the most shit-shod hotel she had ever seen.

When she entered the dimly lit, hideously tacky-wallpapered lobby, she could smell the distinct aroma of body odor and cat piss, with just a smattering of marijuana. On the wall directly in front of her hung a needlework sampler. It read: “Progress for progress' sake is not progress at all.” At the front desk, a hunchbacked, white-haired old woman snored with her head on her hand. Eileen cautiously approached and rang the service bell.

“What in tarnation!- Oh, a customah!”, Eileen made the uncomfortable observation that the woman's mouth bore only three rotting teeth. Her breath reflected it. 

“Excuse me, ma'am. I'll be needing a room for two.”

“Wassat, miss? I can't hears ya! Ya gots to speak up!”

“I'll be needing a room for two!”

“Huh? What? These ol' ears, miss, they dun work so good no more. Ah hell, Tobeh! Tobeh, get down here and help ya mothah out!”, She called upstairs. 

“I'm busy, mom!”, A gruff sounding voice answered.

“Like hell ya are, ya good for nuthin' freeloadah! Get ya ass down here and help me with this customah!”

“Jesus Christ!”

She heard shuffling coming from upstairs, and then a tall man, clad in workboots, blue jeans and a white wife-beater came stomping down the steps. Light, mouse brown hair framed blue-gray eyes in a shaggy, unkempt, obvious home-haircut. He looked upon her down a hooked nose as his masculine, 5 o' clock shadow bearing jaw momentarily shifted into a welcoming half-grin. That was when Eileen Prince found Tobias Snape handsome for the first time.

“Can I help ya?”

“Yes, I-I...need a room for two, please. The name is Prince.”

He jotted down a few things on a logbook which lay open on the desk. “Alright, the room will be 35 a night. You'll be in number 27. I'll, uh, help ya with your things.”, He stepped out from behind the desk. At the sight of Viserus, his features softened. He knelt down to the drowsy child's level. “'Ey there, little buddy! You're out quite past your bedtime, ain't ya?”, Smiling playfully, he ruffled the boy's hair.

Viserus sniffled. “My Daddy is never going to wake up again.”

The man's smile faded to a look of awkwardness, and then sorrow. “I'm, uh, sorry to hear that, son.”, He said, rubbing the boy's shoulder. He rose back up, his sympathetic eyes meeting Eileen's. She dropped her gaze from his.

“It's a long story.”, She spoke softly, her tired eyes looking at the floor.

An awkward silence spread over them. “Maybe you'll tell it to me sometime, hun. Anyway, you folks must be bushed. I'll show ya to the room.”, He relieved her of the luggage and led them down the hall to room number 27, and then handed her the key.

“By the way, my name's Tobias Snape, but most folks around here call me Toby.”, He held out his hand, which she shook. It was rough and callous. The hands of the proletariat.

“I'm Eileen Prince.”, She smiled back at him. “Oh, here.”, She reached into her wallet and grabbed a few bills to tip him, but he raised his hand. 

“Nah, miss, don't ya worry about it. You just take care of yourself now, ya hear?”

She nodded, and turned the key to her room.

The wallpaper inside the small, double twin bedded space somehow managed to be the most garish yet. It was tearing in places and the ceiling showed several spots of water damage. The carpet reeked of cigarette smoke. She paid no mind, though. Viserus rubbed his eyes and would have nearly collapsed on the floor, had she not scooped him up in her arms. She brought him over to the bed nearest the window and tucked him in, kissing him lightly on the forehead before she strode over to the bathroom. 

This day feels like it's spanned a thousand years, she mused as she slid off her dress, wanting nothing more than to climb in the shower, relax, and attempt to process the events that had taken place within the last 24 hours. She slid open the shower curtain...and felt her heart stop in her chest. 

Crawling along the white porcelain of the tub, was a large insect. It bore the body of a cockroach, and the long, arched legs of a spider.


End file.
